


Every Nickname is a Title

by Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 11:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11058429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: In a world where your soul mark is the nickname your soulmate will eventually call you, Rafael Barba has tried to stop anyone from calling him "Rafi". But when Dominick "Call me Sonny" Carisi, Jr. causes Barba's tattoo to sear against his skin, Barba is left trying to figure out what Carisi's tattoo can possibly be, if only to make sure he never accidentally uses it.





	Every Nickname is a Title

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tobeconspicuous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeconspicuous/gifts).



> Title is from a Thomas Paine quote: "Titles are but nicknames, and every nickname is a title".
> 
> I always forget to mention it, but you can always feel free to come say hi [on tumblr](http://butihavejoy.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Usual disclaimer: the only thing I own are my typos. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos.

Barba had always hated the nickname “Rafi”.

Not just because it was what his father called him, when his father actually spoke instead of yelled or letting his fists do the talking for him. Not just because it's what the kids at school would call him when they tormented him, along with calling him a fag or worse, before Eddie or Alex would step in and defend him.

No, he especially hated it because it had always been etched in a fine, almost elegant script, on the skin above his heart, just waiting for the day when his soulmate would call him by it, waiting to sear against his skin to tell him that this person was ‘the one’ for him.

Barba didn’t like having his choices made for him. And knowing that the nickname was already so tainted by association with his worst memories made him hate the idea of a soulmate almost as much as he hated the nickname.

“Rafael?”

Olivia so rarely called Barba by his first name that it snapped him out of his reverie more effectively than anything else. “Sorry,” he said, flashing her an apologetic smile as he grabbed the case file Olivia had brought him and flipped through it with interest. “Soulmate rape, you said? Let me guess, the perp claims that he felt his soulmark burn when the victim called him by the nickname and decided he just _had_ to have the vic then and there.”

Olivia gave him a tired smile. “Got it in one, Counselor,” she said. “It's almost like we’ve had four of these cases this month alone.”

Barba nodded slowly. “They're becoming more frequent,” he noted. “I don’t know what it is about social media and whatever else that has emboldened people to skip the normal steps of finding their soulmate. After all, I thought the entire purpose of a nickname soulmark was for nature to force you to build a relationship with your soulmate before revealing them to you.”

“In an ideal world, maybe,” Olivia said, her smile disappearing, and she subconsciously rubbed the crook of her arm, where Barba knew her tattoo that said “Liv” was. “But you and I both know that these rapes have nothing to do with soulmates. That’s just an excuse as old as time. And if anything, I think what we’re seeing is the effect of the younger generation finally feeling like they can come forward and reveal the abuses inherent in the system.”

Olivia was right, of course, and Barba knew she was right. That didn’t change the fact that the legal system had yet to catch up to the notion that bad people will always find a way to twist the system and take advantage of vulnerable people, even if it meant desecrating nature itself.

As if sensing his train of thought, Olivia cleared her throat and said, “It’s ironic that the whole soulmark system is built around the idea of consent — only the person whose nickname is spoken knows that they’ve found their soulmate, as if nature wants to give them the choice about whether or not to pursue it.”

Barba snorted. “If only it was that easy to convince 12 jurors that just because someone claims they found their soulmate doesn’t mean they actually did, or that their soulmate wanted to be raped.” Olivia’s expression tightened and Barba winced, remembering too late her own father’s history on the subject. “Sorry, Liv.”

He used the nickname as a gesture of reconciliation. Olivia loved for people to call her by the nickname tattooed on her, because Olivia wanted to find her soulmate.

Barba did not.

Olivia’s eyes met his and she smiled slightly. “It’s fine,” she told him.

She had called him ‘Rafi’ only once, and based solely on the look on his face, had decided never to call him that again.

“Anyway,” Barba continued, tapping an idle finger on the case file, “I’ll take a closer look at this and see what I can do. Maybe we can get the perp to take a plea deal and not have to rely on the fine people of Manhattan.”

“And we’ll keep working on our end to shore up the case,” Olivia reassured him, rather unnecessarily. He trusted SVU to their job, for the most part. It wasn’t their fault that cases like this were notoriously difficult to get a conviction on. “By the way,” Olivia added in what she seemed to think was a casual tone, “Carisi wanted to know if he could shadow you again.”

Barba frowned at her. “He’s already passed the Bar,” he said. “He doesn’t need to shadow anymore. Not to mention with him now an accredited lawyer, we run into some legal difficulties there.”

Olivia shrugged. “He says that he needs more experience with the law side of soulmate-related cases. Truth be told, we don’t have a lot on our plates at the moment, and even if he can’t sit in with you during court, you know he’d enthusiastically help with paperwork.”

“Hit me in my weak spot, why don’t you?” Barba said, though he was smiling. Olivia knew how much he hated paperwork. “Offering me Carisi to do my grunt work, and it’s not even my birthday? Liv, what did I do to deserve you?”

She rolled her eyes, though she was also smiling. “Just remember this the next time I call you at 3 a.m. for a search warrant,” she told him. “I’ll send Carisi over tomorrow at some point.”

“I’ll mentally prepare myself, thanks,” Barba said dryly, and Olivia took that as her cue to leave, which was probably for the best, because Barba was going to spend the next twenty minutes ruminating on Dominick “Sonny” Carisi, Jr., and frankly, he’d rather no one else was there to witness that.

He’d hate for someone to witness just how much he didn’t hate the detective.

Ok, perhaps that was a little harsh — truth be told, Barba liked Carisi, even if it was against his will. Carisi was just so bubbly and warm and everything that Barba had spent the last 45 years trying not to be.

From the get, Carisi had rubbed Barba the wrong way, when he had thrust a hand towards Barba and opened with, “Dominick Carisi, call me Sonny.” Barba had little time for those so desperate to find their soulmates that they actually opened with their nicknames, and he had resolved at that first meeting to never actually call the detective Sonny, and thus far, never had.

Of course, late nights spent together on cases had revealed to Barba the unfortunate truth: Carisi just _was_ that open, not because he was searching for his soulmate or for something else, but because somehow, he’d never learned to build walls around himself.

And Barba should not have found that as endearing as he did.

But Barba had also made it this long without slipping up and calling Carisi Sonny, and he had no intention of changing that now. Even if he wasn’t Carisi’s soulmate, which he definitely was not, he wouldn’t take the chance, lest Carisi decide they were better friends than they actually were. 

It just wasn’t a risk worth taking in any case.

* * *

 

“What a case, huh?” Carisi said as he trailed Barba from the courtroom where the judge had just vacated the jury’s verdict and sank an increasingly hard to come by win for Barba.

Barba bit back his automatic retort at the inaneness of Carisi’s comment only because he saw the exhaustion that ringed Carisi’s eyes and hunched his shoulders slightly. “Indeed,” he said instead, as noncommittal as he could make it. “Welcome to the world of soulmate rape, where nature clearly intended that our consent be stripped from us just from a quirk in genetics or whatever it is that leads to an unwanted tattoo.”

His words were just a little too bitter, colored by his own exhaustion and frustration with the case, and Carisi nodded slightly, clearly picking up on Barba’s mood. “So it’s obviously all bullshit,” he said bluntly, and Barba had to smile at that. “And bullshit like this merits a drink or several. Can I buy you a drink, Counselor?”

Even under torture, Barba would never admit what it did to him to hear ‘counselor’ said in that absurd Staten Island accent. “I suppose I could manage a drink,” he allowed. “But I’m also aware of a detective’s salary, so I won’t force you to buy me said drink.”

Carisi grinned at him, though he played it off like he was offended. “What, is well scotch not good enough for you?” he asked, his grin wide and warm. “Top shelf only for Rafael Barba?”

“Yes, because I value myself as a person, which means when I get drunk, I prefer to get drunk from the best of sources and not whatever swill is on special that night,” Barba shot back.

Of course, no one had mentioned getting drunk, but Barba could see where this evening was headed, and figured after the day he’d had, it was easier to embrace it than pretend like he didn’t want to go drown his sorrows and the torn remnants of his once-promising career.

And if Carisi’s answering smile was any indication, he was also unlikely to object to an evening of getting drunk.

Two hours later, at a bar within walking distance of the courthouse, Carisi pressed yet another shot glass into Barba’s hand. “Salud,” he said, clinking his shot glass against Barba’s, and Barba closed his eyes as he drained the shot, expecting but still not mentally prepared for the accompanying burning down his throat.

“Christ, Carisi, are you trying to kill me?” he rasped. “Not all of us are recent graduates still used to partying with co-eds.”

“Hardy-har,” Carisi said dryly. “I figured rum would speak to your Cuban heritage.”

“Oh, was that rum?” Barba shot back. “Based on the quality, I assumed it was something brewed in a prison toilet.”

Carisi grinned at him. “You can hate all you want, but it’s not my fault that you can no longer handle your liquor.”

Barba bristled at that, because you could accuse him of many things, but the inability to handle his liquor was _not_ one of them. “Oh, is that what you think?” he asked, signaling the bartender, who brought them two glasses of scotch. “Please, Carisi, show me how well you can take your liquor.”

He raised his own glass in a mocking salute, matched by his half-smile, and Carisi’s smile faded slightly as he lifted the glass, and disappeared altogether when he smelled the contents. “Bottoms up,” he grimaced, clinking his glass against Barba’s and shooting the scotch in one gulp.

Barba followed suit, but his eyes never left Carisi’s face, watching his reaction. He grinned when Carisi choked on the liquor, only just managing to choke it down. “Jesus Christ, what was that?” he asked.

“That was a $45 shot of scotch,” Barba told him with a lazy grin that widened just as Carisi’s eyes did at the price. “Like I said, I didn’t want to force you to buy me a drink.”

Carisi just shook his head and ordered two beers for himself and Barba. “All things considered, I’ll take the $7 shot of rum,” he said, tipping his beer bottle forward to clink it against Barba’s. “And not just for the sake of my bank account.” Barba just laughed and Carisi’s expression grew slightly more somber. “So is every soulmate case like this one?” he asked bluntly.

Barba considered the question for a minute. “Do you mean, does every soulmate case drive me to drink?” he asked before taking a long pull on his beer. “Because in that case, yes. But if you mean, does every soulmate case invalidate what the law says about consent, then no. We’ve made some excellent strides in that regard, although today’s judge illustrates how much further we still have to go.”

Carisi shook his head again. “I just feel like the system of nickname tattoos is so flawed,” he said, a stubborn set to his jaw. “I mean, what if your soulmate just never feels comfortable calling you by that nickname? Or what if it’s a really dumb nickname, or something like that? And what if you fall in love with someone who isn't your soulmate?” He shrugged. “I just think there are better methods of figuring out who you’re meant to be with.”

“Oh, really?” Barba asked, propping his chin on his hand as he leaned on the bar and looked at Carisi. “And what did you have in mind?”

In the dim light of the bar, it was hard to tell, but Barba was pretty sure Carisi blushed slightly. “You know,” he said, shrugging jerkily. “Just hanging out with someone. Being friends first. The kind of things a nickname soulmate tattoo tries to force you to do in the first place.”

Barba examined Carisi’s expression carefully and took a swig of beer before saying carefully, “Well, Sonny, perhaps one day you’ll find that person.”

Carisi gave no visible reaction to the use of the nickname beyond raising an eyebrow at Barba. “Maybe I will, _Rafi_ ,” he said teasingly.

And Barba sucked in a breath, because he could _feel_ the tattoo burn white-hot against his skin, and it took all of his effort to keep his expression neutral and not to pitch forward on the bar stool. He tried to disguise his reaction by taking another sip of beer, though his hand shook as he grabbed the bottle. “Maybe you’re not looking in the right place,” he managed.

Carisi laughed and gestured at the bartender for another beer. Barba used his momentary distraction to pretend to pick at lint on his shirt, though in reality he pressed his hand against the tattoo, trying to tell it that it clearly had the wrong idea, that Carisi was _not_ his soulmate. After all, he’d had no visible reaction to Barba calling him ‘Sonny’, and Barba knew that it was the first time he had used the nickname.

Of course, Barba reasoned, dropping his hand when Carisi turned back to him, full beer in hand, it stood to reason that Carisi’s nickname tattoo might not actually be ‘Sonny’. Or else Barba fell in the 0.01% of individuals whose soulmates didn’t have corresponding soulmarks.

He genuinely wasn’t sure which one he would prefer.

“You ok?” Carisi asked, giving him a strange look.

“Fine,” Barba said, a little too quickly. “Just tired. The DA will need to be updated tomorrow on what went wrong with the case.” He stood and fussed with his coat for a moment before fixing Carisi with a stare. “You really prefer to be called Sonny?” he asked, in a way that suggested it wasn’t as much if a non-sequitur as it seemed.

Carisi stared at him as if trying to decide if it was the alcohol making him hallucinate or if Barba was really asking him this. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “I mean, I don’t mind being called Dominick, I guess, but Dom is what everyone calls my dad, and I just like Sonny. It’s what everyone’s always called me, back on Staten Island, at least.”

“Dominick,” Barba tried, the name feeling foreign in his mouth. “Dom.”

Carisi had no visible reaction to either of the names besides his eyebrows inching so far up his forehead that they were practically lost to his hairline. “Are you sure you’re ok getting home on your own, Counselor?” he asked.

Barba glared at him. “I’m fine, Carisi,” he said. He hesitated before adding, “Thank you for the shots. I’ll see you later.”

He left before Carisi could say something else, or before, God forbid, he somehow revealed that Carisi had caused his soulmark to flare against his skin with a warmth at once foreign and utterly familiar.

Because Sonny Carisi could not possibly be Barba’s soulmate.

He was loud and brash and abrupt and everything that Barba had trained himself not to be, like the worst parts of Barba before career and common courtesy had somewhat smoothed his rough edges.

But Barba also knew from experience that Carisi cared too deeply and spoke too loudly and grinned too widely and Barba should have found none of that endearing but somehow, against Barba’s better judgment, Carisi had wormed his way into Barba’s life and apparently Barba’s soul.

And while he was busy debating the finer points of whether nature was out of its goddamn mind to think he could build a life with Sonny Carisi, Barba didn’t quite miss the fact that for the first time in 45 years, the nickname ‘Rafi’ had not caused him to grit his teeth or glare at the person using it.

In fact, for the first time in his life, the nickname had almost made Barba smile. 

Which meant Barba was even more fucked than he had ever thought he could be.

* * *

 

By the next morning, Barba had come to a singular conclusion: Carisi, against all odds, may be his soulmate, but clearly, whatever nickname Sonny had branded on him, Barba didn’t yet know it.

And he needed to know what it was so that he could make sure that he never, ever used it.

Which meant he had to somehow get Carisi to tell him what his tattoo was.

Barba preferred to ignore the romantic implications that he just wanted to continue to get to know the detective, to build on the tentative relationship that had been borne from many late nights spent working together on cases. It was simple logic that told him he needed to know Carisi better to suss out whatever his tattoo was, and that was all. There were no deeper motives there.

No matter the fact that Barba had spent half the night thinking about Carisi’s mouth and what it would be like to kiss it.

That was pure coincidence.

Just like it was pure coincidence when, later in the day, Carisi called him ‘Rafi’ again, still in that same teasing tone, and Barba couldn’t find it in himself to correct him, to tell him not to call him that, that he hated when people called him ‘Rafi’.

It turned out that while Barba might still hate the nickname, he just couldn’t bring himself to hate the way it fell off Carisi’s lips like it was the most natural thing.

Which in some ways, it was.

Not that any of that mattered, of course. But if letting Carisi call him by the nickname was what it took to find out his own, then he’d suffer through it.

Olivia had agreed to lend Carisi to Barba for a few more days, barring any major new cases, and Barba made the executive decision that by the end of that, he would know what Carisi’s nickname tattoo was, even if he eventually had to break down and just come right out and ask.

As it turned out, he didn't have to.

Late one night, far too late for them both to be in the office, especially since they weren't working on any pertinent case, had in fact dug up a few old cases to pore over because Carisi was convinced he remembered some detail from an old case that could potentially be used as a precedent, Carisi practically threw the case file he was looking at onto Barba’s desk, frustration clear in every line of his body. Barba glanced up at him, his feet propped up on his desk, his suit jacket long since taken off, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. “Problem, Detective?” he asked mildly.

“I _know_ I saw it somewhere,” Carisi muttered, running an irritated hand through his hair (and completely missing the way Barba’s eyes followed the movement).

Barba snorted. “Even if you did see the exact detail you’re convinced you did, that doesn’t mean that it would hold up as precedent,” he said reasonably. “Besides, it only tangentially applies to this case, and would do little to establish _animus nocendi_.”

Carisi glared at him. “Sure, Counselor, just dismiss my attempt to help because your legal knowledge is vastly superior to my own.” Barba’s expression didn’t change, and Carisi scowled as he sank into a chair on the others side of Barba’s desk. “Not even gonna consider refuting that?”

Barba rolled his eyes and took a sip of coffee, making a face when he discovered it was stone cold. “Why bother refuting fact?” he asked, a little glibly. “Or are you going to try to tell me that passing the Bar equates to twenty years experience?”

Carisi shrugged, clearly not in the mood for their usual banter. “Yeah, well, I know a losing cause when I see one,” he grumbled moodily.

“Self-pity will get you only so far, Detective,” Barba told him.

“Is it self-pity when it’s true?” Carisi shot back. “Or are you really gonna tell me that you don’t think of me as just a cop with a wasted law degree?”

Barba raised both eyebrows, surprised by the self-deprecation clear in Carisi’s tone, and not the usual joking self-deprecation he had a tendency to bring out when fishing for a compliment from Barba. “If you think your law degree’s wasted in helping you apprehend some of the worst monsters this city has to offer, that’s your problem,” he told Carisi, taking his feet off his desk and sitting up in his chair to show Carisi that he wasn’t being flippant this time. “You’re much more than a cop with a wasted law degree. You graduated law school and passed the Bar, and even if you never become a practicing attorney, that still makes you a lawyer.”

Carisi rolled his eyes, clearly about to brush it off, but Barba cut him off before he could, leaning forward, looking Sonny in the eye and telling him, “I mean it, Counselor.”

It was the first time he had ever called Carisi that, and Carisi’s eyes went wide as his hand fell to press against his hip, and Barba realized a moment too late what Carisi’s tattoo must be.

“You,” Carisi breathed, his entire face lighting up, and Barba swallowed, hard, and tried to keep the panic off of his face.

“Me,” he said, with a stilted laugh. 

The light in Carisi’s eyes dimmed. “You knew?” he asked, a little accusingly.

Barba shrugged, feeling the back of his neck burn the way it did when he was caught on completely uneven footing, a rarity at thishis life. “Only for a few days,” he said awkwardly, trying to play it off casually but falling far short. “I just...I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

It was a lame excuse, and Carisi understandably didn’t seem convinced. “You coulda started with ‘Hey, Carisi, turns out I’m your soulmate’,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching. “Unless if you didn’t want…”

He trailed off, any hint of a smile disappearing from his face, and Barba winced. “It’s not that I _didn’t_ want you to know,” he hedged. “I had hoped we would have a little more time to get to know each other before this became relevant.”

“More time?” Carisi repeated, clearly unimpressed with what Barba had thought was fairly decent logic, given the circumstances. “Because working with each other for four years isn’t enough time?”

“Evidently not,” Barba said flatly, sitting back in his chair and examining Carisi for a long moment. “So. Counselor. At least this explains your insistence on inflicting yourself on the legal world.”

Seemingly against his will, Carisi smiled again. “Yeah, well, it’s better than when I thought I wanted to be a priest. I was half-convinced this was some Jesus-level ‘Wonderful Counselor’ shit.”

Barba choked seemingly on air at Carisi’s casual blasphemy. “Jesus Christ,” he managed finally.

Carisi grinned. “That was the general idea,” he said.

And Barba almost doubled over in laughter.

When he finally resurfaced, he cleared his throat and looked carefully at Carisi. “So ignoring your priestly ambitions, did you go to law school because of your tattoo?”

“It was part of the reason,” Carisi said honestly. “Figured it was the easiest way to get someone to call me Counselor.”

Though Barba nodded, his brow furrowed slightly. “Then why didn’t you take the job at the Brooklyn ADA’s office? That would’ve been a surefire way to get people to start calling you Counselor.”

Carisi blushed slightly and shrugged, looking away from Barba. “Well, what I told you before is still true — I wasn’t ready to leave SVU. But, uh, I also decided that I wasn’t all that interested in finding my soulmate,” he said.

Barba frowned. Under ordinary circumstances, he would’ve let the subject drop since Carisi clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but these were hardly ordinary circumstances. And if anyone had a right to know, it was Barba. “Why not?”

Carisi rubbed the back of his neck. “Because I kind of found someone that I liked,” he admitted, his face red. “And I kinda wanted to see if it went anywhere before I decided to start looking for my soulmate. I mean, you know what Liv always says — looking for your soulmate is a choice, and between work and this person, I thought I had found something more important than a soulmate.”

Barba nodded slowly. “And I’ll take it that it didn’t work out with them?” he asked, trying not to seem too curious about Carisi’s personal life, though he had to admit he was curious when Carisi would’ve had time to meet someone when he worked so many hours.

“Actually,” Carisi started, a slow smile creeping across his face, “I’m still holding out hope.”

Frowning, Barba opened his mouth to reply when it suddenly clicked what Carisi meant, and he gaped at him, his mouth still hanging open. “Oh,” he said, finally.

“Yeah,” Carisi said, nodding, and for a brief moment, Barba wondered if Carisi’s eyes had always been that blue. “Despite you being, you know, an all-around asshole, I didn’t want to risk ruining what we have going for us by taking a different job.”

“And what do we have going for us?” Barba asked, smirking, assuming Carisi would give some kind of glib answer.

But Carisi considered Barba carefully, his smile softening. “Potential.”

Barba was taken aback for a moment before he smiled as well, a genuine, if slightly surprised, smile. “That we do.” For a moment, Carisi just kept staring at Barba with the same goofy smile on his face, until Barba cleared his throat and said pointedly, “If you wanted to take a picture, it would last longer.”

Carisi didn’t even seem slightly embarrassed to have been caught staring. “Forgive me for being a little excited that the guy I’ve had a thing for for like three years now is my soulmate,” he said, a little too genuine to be as waspish as he clearly intended. He hesitated before asking, almost shyly (or at least as shyly as Carisi could ever possibly be), “So what’s your nickname?”

“Oh,” Barba said, realizing for the first time that Carisi hadn’t known what name it was that had started this whole mess. “Um, it’s Rafi.”

“Of course,” Carisi said, his eyes lighting up in recognition. “That’s what I called you at the bar.” He bit his lip and smiled at Barba. “I was surprised you let me call you that. You never let anyone call you by a nickname.” He tilted his head slightly. “Saving it for your soulmate, Counselor?”

Barba snorted and rolled his eyes. “Hardly,” he said dryly. “Truth be told, no one calls me that because I happen to hate the nickname.”

“But you’ve let me call you ‘Rafi’ all week,” Carisi said, clearly puzzled, and he cocked his head slightly as he frowned at Barba. “Have you only been letting me call you that because I’m your soulmate?”

“Yes,” Barba said, figuring honesty was the best position at the moment.

Carisi lit up slightly at that, though he hesitated before pressing, “But why do you hate it so much? I think it’s a great nickname.”

He said it so sincerely that Barba almost hated to tell him the truth. “The nickname hasn’t always had the best connotation in my life,” he said carefully, keeping his expression neutral. “My father used to call me ‘Rafi’.”

“And you didn’t have a good relationship with your father?” Carisi guessed.

Barba almost laughed. “Wow, it’s almost like you’re a detective with the way you figured that out.” He paused, wondering how much to actually tell Carisi and how much to save for a later point in time. “No, needless to say, I did not have a good relationship with my father. Which meant I learned early on to associate the nickname with some not pleasant things, and that was enough to make me hate the nickname.”

Carisi nodded, a little shamefaced. “And yet you’ve been letting me call you it all week,” he pointed out again.

Barba shrugged. “I’m still not a huge fan of the name,” he admitted, though he gave Carisi a measured look and a half-smile. “But I’m starting to enjoy the way it sounds when you say it.”

For a moment, Carisi lit up like a Christmas tree, and Barba had to smile at that, but suddenly, Carisi’s smile faded slightly. “You know, you don’t have to be nice to me just because we’re soulmates.”

Barba blinked. “Who said that I was?” he asked.

Carisi shrugged and looked away. “I just meant, I’m not expecting this to be some kind of fairytale happy ending, that just because we’re soulmates, everything will suddenly fall into place.”

“To be fair, it usually does,” Barba pointed out.

Carisi gave him a look. “You and I both know that’s not true,” he said. “Or else we’d be out of jobs.”

“Fair point,” Barba allowed.

Shrugging again, Carisi said, “My point is, I’m not expecting anything from you. The least of which is letting me call you by a nickname that you hate.”

Barba stood, smoothing his tie in a distracted gesture as he crossed around his desk and paused, standing a little too close to Carisi to be casual. “Counselor,” he said carefully, “have I somehow given you the impression that I’m letting you do anything?”

It was impossible to miss the way that Carisi lit up at the second use of the nickname, though he swallowed hard when Barba reached out and grabbed his tie, tugging him up from the chair and carefully, possessively placing a large hand against the hip that bore Carisi’s tattoo. “Where…?” Carisi croaked, unable to finish the question, but Barba seemed to understand what he was asking.

With his other hand, he encircled Carisi’s wrist and slowly brought Carisi’s hand up to rest against his chest, giving an almost predatory smile when the breath hitched in Carisi’s throat. “Rafi,” Carisi said, his voice a little hoarse. “You really don’t mind me calling you that?”

“The only problem I have at the moment is that you’re still talking,” Barba said, closing the space between them and kissing Carisi.

When they broke apart, Carisi was wearing that dumb smile again, but Barba was pretty sure that he was, too. “Can I see your tattoo?” Carisi asked breathlessly.

“Here, in my office?” Barba asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “I think not.” For a moment, Carisi looked crestfallen, until Barba added casually, “But if you want to come with me to my apartment, I think that can be arranged.”

“Are you sure, Rafi?” Carisi asked, grinning again.

“Keep asking, Counselor, and I might change my mind.”

Carisi’s grin didn’t even flicker. “Deal,” he said, reaching down to grab Barba’s hand, though he hesitated for a moment before adding, “I’m really glad it’s you, by the way.”

Barba gave him a calculating smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I might just be glad that it’s you, too. Eventually, anyway.”

Carisi just laughed.


End file.
